


Impossible

by AryaxJaqen



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Doubt, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Jaqarya, Male Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 15:40:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16684408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AryaxJaqen/pseuds/AryaxJaqen
Summary: Based on this silly show so Jaqen and Arya have issues to work out.Set after the final battle. Arya is the queen. No spoilers, I'm only quoting Lena Headey ! xdThis story is inspired by James Arthur's version of 'Impossible.' I heard it and I felt I wanted to torment Jaqen a little :) :) :)It's Jaqarya fic, sansan is only mentioned.I own nothing. Jaqen, Arya and Sandor belong to George R. R. Martin. The song belongs to Shontelle.





	Impossible

_Tell them all I know now_

_Shout it from the roof tops_

_Write it on the sky line_

_All we had is gone now_

_Tell them I was happy_

_And my heart is broken_

_All my scars are open_

_Tell them what I hoped would be impossible_

_\- 'Impossible', Shontelle_

* * *

Jaqen pushed back his cowl, lifting his face to the first rays of sun. Girls turned their heads, giving him inviting looks as they moved through the crowded streets of King's Landing, slowly leaving the city behind.

Even at this early hour King's Landing burst with life. Merchants were shouting their wares, children were playing in the half-frozen mud, raising their heads to stare curiously at the queen's horsemen. There was something new about their pale, skinny faces, something radiant, something he hadn't seen for a long time.

Hope.

Winter showed them mercy and lifted its icy hand from Westeros. Most of the time the skies were still grey but the air was gentler and the winds were softer and kindlier.

He urged his horse past the bread cart, a smell of fresh pastry reminded him he hadn't broken fast yet. A chubby boy, much like that funny baker of hers, offered him a slice of freshly baked meat pie but Jaqen shook his head.

 

'Since when we'd stopped eating ?! That pie smelled good !'

 

Jaqen grinned.

 

'Sandor Clegane may go back to the castle anytime he wishes and break his fast with his lovely wife. I have no need of him.'

 

'Bloody right ! My ugly face won't do ! I know who you need.'

 

Jaqen turned his face to his meddling companion and raised a brow in the way only he could. But Sandor, like his stubborn girl, wasn't easily intimidated.

 

'If you thought I didn't see !...' His friend grunted. 'I thought you might change your mind...'

 

Jaqen studied his face carefully, the alchemist in him taking charge. The old scars were healing, the burns ceased to bleed. The potion he had brought from the Citadel did wonders. From the expression on his face Jaqen concluded Sandor was now looking for an appropriate insult.

 

'You're not half as smart as she says you are !'

 

There were only a few things as entertaining as Sandor Clegane playing a matchmaker.

 

'I must hurry.' Jaqen explained politely when he stopped laughing. 'The Titan's Daughter leaves in less than an hour and I wish to speak with the Dornish Sun's captain before we sail off. I mean to make some arrangements of supplies for the Red Keep.'

 

'Seventh hell take your bloody arrangements ! She needs your wits here !'

 

She valued his advice, he knew. But it was not what he wanted. This man was greedy.

The air carried the scent of salt now. They arrived at the port to see the final colors of the rising sun dancing across the sea. Seagulls were circling over their heads like dragons used to merely a year ago. Their screams rising above other voices, making them almost impossible to be heard. But Jaqen heard. A hopeful chirping of larks and sparrows. A song of spring.

A sound as clear as her laughter. She'd turned the Red Keep into a castle of joy. She had changed. Her hair grew longer, her words were softer, her berry lips oft curved into the loveliest of smiles.

If hope had a face then it was this.

She brought a smile to his lips.

Always.

Her gaze followed him everywhere.

Inscrutable.

They shared their little secrets, guarded them. Her fingers brushing his, a sigh, a darkened gaze. They understood the unspoken.

When he tended to Sansa she followed him, guessing his commands before he managed to utter a word. Ever a brilliant apprentice. His lovely girl. She knew when to comfort Sansa and how to urge her when she felt too weak to go on. They both pretended they didn't see Sandor crying when the babe grasped his father's calloused finger for the first time.

Just so.

It was that cloudy morning fortnight ago when Arya was nursing her sister's babe. His eyes lingered a little too long on her sweet face and Jaqen realized it was his time to go. _We bring the gift of death._  

He thought about the scars on her belly. He wanted to smooth his palm across her flat stomach and tend to her old wounds. A treacherous thought. He imagined her having a child. His child.

He had promised to wait forever. Nevertheless, forever was too long a wait.

 

'To hell with you and to hell with her !' Sandor didn't give up. 'You'll leave and she'll be all over me !'

 

'Give my horse to Sam. I promised to teach his boy how to ride. Arya will do it.'

 

'Bloody mad she-wolf ! You don't know how it is !' Sandor pointed out accusingly. 'Her killer this, her killer that ! She won't let go. And I can't lie to her ! Not to both of them ! If not the wolf pup, Sansa will see through me ! What do I bloody tell her ?' He finished, exasperated.

 

Jaqen hesitated. A splendid view was spread before him. The ships rocked gently in the calm waters of the Blackwater Bay, their white sails sharp against the endless blue of the horizon. The narrow sea was calling him.

He reached to his side where a sword was hidden beneath his cloak. A small, slender blade. A toy really. He patted its pommel for luck. A cryptic smile curved his mouth.

 

'Tell her I was happy to serve.'


End file.
